Just a Moment More
by music842
Summary: Dallas visits Johnny before the rumble. Johnny's thoughts before he dies. One shot.


**One shot, S.E. Hinton owns everything, hope you enjoy!**

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As Johnny lay on his hospital bed, dying (it was obvious he was dying now, he couldn't pretend anymore, each hour that ticked away, he felt weaker and weaker), his thoughts wandered to the children he and Ponyboy had pulled from the fire. When he first knew that he wasn't going to get better, that he wouldn't walk again, and eventually when they told him he probably wouldn't make it out of the hospital, he had felt deep remorse. He was overcome by it. By the fact that he would never see anything outside of Tulsa. Never fall in love with a girl. Never make anything of himself. Never have children and give them a better life than he had been given. He had almost broken down when Ponyboy had shown up. Pony would have those chances that he never would.

But he knew better now. Slowly but surely, the parents of those children they had saved had come by to say thank you. He could see the deep gratitude written plainly in their faces. The way the kids smiled, futures bright, with happy homes and a world of opportunities ahead of them. He didn't regret it anymore. They did the right thing. Those children deserved what he never got. And their parents deserved what his parent never allowed themselves to have.

He was at peace with it now, the fact that he was dying. Mostly. He had come to terms with the things that he wouldn't get to do. It was now the people he would leave behind that gnawed at him, made him worry, filled him with regret. Most of the gang would be ok, he told himself. Darry would be ok, because he always was, and he had his brothers, both of them now. And Soda, and Steve and Two-Bit, they would all be ok, too. He worried about Ponyboy, he had looked to be on the verge of tears the last time he had stopped by. But he had Soda, and now Darry. They would help him.

No, it was Dallas who worried him the most. Always so angry, so bitter at what life had handed him. He would never reflect on it too long, preferring instead to take out his frustrations on whatever or whoever happened to be close by. Dally didn't have anyone to watch out for him. Except Johnny. Sure, Dally didn't need help in the fights he got into, or dealing with his deadbeat father, or when he got arrested. On the surface, Dally could get by on his own just fine. But Dally needed someone to care, someone to at least care that he was alive. And the gang did, in a way. When he got back from his months-long stint in juvie, they had all asked where he'd been. When he came back from a fight with a black eye, they'd ask who he gotten into it with, who pissed him off. But it was almost superficial. They would think, oh, it's just Dallas, he can take care of himself. He doesn't need anyone. Ponyboy had said it plenty of times. Johnny knew better. So did Mrs. Curtis, when she was alive.

Johnny would listen, silent, those nights in the empty lot, when Dally would go off on something, about some injustice done to him. When, on the rare occasion, he would tell him about New York, about Alex, his friend who died there. Johnny knew the things that Dally did up there haunted him, even if he didn't say it, and he knew that Dally never told anyone else. Johnny never judged him, no matter what he said, what he had done in the past.

Dally wouldn't talk to anyone else. He had been burned to many times. He would keep it inside until he lost it. God, he wished the doctors could help him. Just a few more months, that's all he wanted. Maybe even a month. There were so many things he hadn't been able to say, that he needed to. He wished he could thank Dally for looking out for him the past few years, tell him how he'd been like an older brother.

The door creaked open, and Johnny was jolted out of his thoughts.

"Johnny?" a voice asked softly. Dallas. It didn't sound like him, but it was. Dally never spoke softly.

Johnny couldn't get his voice to work, and it was a solid two minutes before he was even able to croak out a "hi."

"Johnny, we have the rumble tonight, man. We're gonna smash those fuckin' Socs' heads in, for what they did to you!" His voice had returned, filled with rage.

Johnny wished he were stronger, wished he could tell Dally that the rumble wouldn't get them anywhere, but he couldn't make his mouth form the words. The pain medication they pumped through his veins didn't help much either, made his head fuzzy. He couldn't even open his eyes.

Dally had taken a seat in the hard plastic chair opposite the head of Johnny's bed. He pulled out Two-Bit's switch, opening and closing it, needing to give his hands something to do.

"Man, these doctors ain't doin' shit. Bet they'd care if you were a Soc, if you had money. Pay for their nice little vacations..." Dallas continued, but a wave of pain overcame Johnny, and Dally's words faded and blurred.

"...it'll be ok, you'll see. We'll get you outta that house, you won't have to go back there, you can stay at the Curtis'. Or if they can't take you, we could get you a room at Buck's. He has one downstairs, it'd work out for a while..." The desperation in Dally's voice was unmistakeable.

"Dally..." Johnny took in a short gasp of breath before continuing. "I'm dying." Johnny was never that direct, especially with Dallas, but he didn't have time for that now. He opened his eyes a crack, just to see all the color drain from Dally's face.

"No...you...you can't, Johnny..." Dally's voice cracked, just a whisper.

Johnny felt awful, didn't want to continue. He wished he could lie, tell him he'd get through this, he'd get better, but he couldn't. He was going to die, and Dally would be alone.

"The...the doctors...told me this morning..." Every word was an effort to push through.

Johnny cracked his eyes open again. Dally's head was down, and even in the dim light, Johnny could see him shaking.

"It'll be ok, Dally," Johnny said softly.

Dally let out a choked sound, and Johnny could tell he was crying. Johnny had only see him cry once, after Mrs. Curtis' death, but he had been pretty drunk then. He wasn't now. Silently, Johnny reached out his hand, because that's about all he could do from his bed. Dally looked up, surprised, but let Johnny take his hand. They sat that way for a long time, until Dally was able to get control of himself.

"I'm gonna be late for the rumble, I gotta go. I'll be back as soon as I can, ok?" Dally stood up, almost to the door. Johnny knew he wanted to get out of the hospital, that he was suffocated by it. He felt that way, too, but he wouldn't for much longer.

"Bring Ponyboy," Johnny croaked.

Dally looked at his dying friend. "Sure, Johnny, anything you want."


End file.
